


Fealty With Love

by Altariel



Series: The Steward and the King [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 23:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15851928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altariel/pseuds/Altariel
Summary: The night before the coronation, a conversation between the man who will be King, and the man who will be Steward.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A follow-up to my story [Flame of the West](https://archiveofourown.org/works/179916), although you do not need to have read it first.

**Fealty With Love**

_The Pelennor, the last day of April, 3019 T.A._

***

On the night before his coronation, in his pavilion upon the Pelennor, the man who would soon be King met the man who was to be his Steward. They had met only three times thus far, he and Faramir – once that first strange meeting in the dark valley and the sickroom; once in the Houses of Healing, when the Lord of Gondor had sworn his fealty to his King; and now this – a meeting both formal and familiar, a quiet, shrewd testing of the other’s wit and wisdom. If Aragorn judged rightly, he believed the Steward content with all he found.

And yet plainly the other still had something he wanted to say, but had not yet found the means. Which of the many men he had been would he trust? Strider was too forthright, surely; Estel too private; Elessar too remote. No, he thought – he must only ever be Aragorn here.

The Steward rose from his chair, and stretched. There was a change about him, Aragorn thought; not simply that his body was returned to health, but that his spirit too was mended. What healing had come in these last weeks? It was as if some deep well of joy had been found within that might suddenly spring forth.

Faramir prowled the little space, coming to a halt by the flap of the tent. He twitched it open to look out, and then let it fall back into place. “I have asked the Lady Éowyn for her hand,” he said, “and she has agreed.”

 _Yes_ , he thought; _yes, that would explain the difference…_ _Good… Very good…_

“Sire?”

“I am glad to hear this,” he said, warmly. “Very glad.”

Faramir nodded, slowly; he had more to say. Aragorn waited. It was for the other man to speak first. He knew – knew well, and regretted too – that he had made mistakes here. _No errand in the South_ , he had said. He had been badly wrong.

“I know why she rode south,” said the Steward, as if catching the thought. “I know too why, as we stood together on the walls of the Houses of Healing, her eyes often strayed eastwards.” He contemplated his King. “As a great captain may seem to a young soldier, I said to her of you.” He shrugged. “That is how it stands.”

Cautiously, he considered this. They would be closest to him and his wife-to-be, over the coming years – years in which two kingdoms were to be restored. They would need them on their side. And yet still he worried. “You have known each other… How long? Six weeks?”

“Five.”

Five weeks... _To be young again_ , he thought… “Long enough to know each other?”

The Steward turned to look out into the night. He seemed to be waiting for someone, or something. “To watch one’s lord and father sink ever further into despair? To be unable to stop the rot? To offer whatever aid lay within one’s power, knowing it would be no use? And, more, to bend oneself, daily, year after year, to a duty so counter to one’s self that in the end one longs only for extinction? Yes, sire – I believe we know each other very well.”

And thus gently he was rebuked. Halbarad himself could not have done it so efficiently, although he would perhaps have been more blunt. _I will like having this man at my side_ , he thought. He said: “You will live in Ithilien, of course?”

Suddenly, that fountain of happiness overflowed. The young man smiled – vividly, joyfully – as if some vision of the future had been summoned to his mind. “Yes,” he said. “Ithilien will be our home.”

Aragorn came to stand next to him. He felt, as he would for some time when he was near this man, that mingled sense of regret and relief – regret for the ones he had been too late to save; relief that he had come in time for this one. He placed his hand upon his shoulder – a gesture both formal and fatherly, one not of possession, but protection. “Need I say you have my blessing?”

“That is good to hear.” Faramir looked at him, gravely. “We offer you all we are, sire, Éowyn and I. Use us kindly.”

From beyond the tent came voices. _“In here?”_ ”

“Ah!” said Faramir softly. “Here she comes. And with her brother…”

“You have not met him?”

“Not yet.”

Again that hand upon the shoulder – the lightest, most confident of touches. “All will be well.”

***

_Altariel, 31 st August 2018_

 


	2. Meet the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened next?

**Meet the Family**

_For CarawynO_

* * *

Faramir was standing ramrod straight when his betrothed entered. They gave each other tight, faint smiles. And then her brother came in. He nodded to the King, and then eyed the other man. Fiercely.

“So you’re the Steward?”

Faramir placed his fist upon his heart and gave an impeccable bow. “I am the Steward of Gondor, yes.”

“Well,” said Éomer. He wore an odd expression, somewhere between annoyance and bewilderment. Faramir looked back blandly, perfectly unreadable. Éowyn too was very closed. They were standing scrupulously apart.

Aragorn folded his arms and watched the scene with considerable interest. He was not entirely sure how this would resolve. There were of course numerous sensitivities at work, not least the political implications. Also, the hobbits were demanding a full report.

Suddenly, there was a most unladylike snort of laughter. “Oh Éomer,” said his sister, her hand to her mouth. “Your _face_! You don’t know whether to embrace us or horsewhip us!”

Faramir relaxed, visibly. “If those are the options, I have a clear preference,” he said. “Assuming my views on the subject are welcome.”

Éowyn laughed out loud. Faramir, hearing this, smiled in turn, a man in receipt of a much-desired honour. No doubting the strength of the affection between them, Aragorn thought. But what did the King of the Mark make of it all?

Éomer was glaring at his sister. Then he sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Oh, Éowyn,” he muttered, “To hear you laugh again… Be happy now, won’t you?” He turned to Faramir. “Please – make her _happy_.”

“Oh, my brother…” Éowyn said, softly. No tears, Aragorn thought; no, not from Steelsheen’s grand-daughter, but, yes, here too there had been a great healing. Faramir, reaching for his lady’s hand, held it tenderly between his own. “That is certainly my intention.”

Gently, Aragorn manoeuvred the three of them into seats. Wine was brought. He listened as the young couple explained the circumstances of their meeting. Six weeks, he thought, since they had both lain at the threshold of death. Six weeks since they had each been near consumed by grief and despair. Now they sat hand-in-hand, overflowing with happiness. It would take a hard heart to begrudge them this, and Éomer’s heart was vast and loving.

“Éowyn complained to me about the quality of her room.”

It was her brother’s turn to snort.

“And Faramir said something about flowers.”

“Yes, I’m sorry about that… I was very tired at the time and not making much sense—”

“I feel,” said Éomer, entering into the spirit of things, “that I should conduct at least a short interview, my lord. About your prospects, perhaps? She _is_ the sister of a king.”

“Please, let me allay any fears you might have. I have a house in the city, independent means, I come from a… largely respectable family…”

“I think,” said Éomer, “that our families have had some dealings in the past. There was an oath, as I recall?”

“I think you may be right. What else? My main estate has been in ruins for the best part of a century, but with some work we might not have to sleep outside—”

“I’ll cope,” said Éowyn.

“I am sure of that,” said Éomer. “One more question. Do you love her?”

The man and woman stared at each other. They were, thought Aragorn, amongst the two most reserved and controlled people of his acquaintance, yet Éowyn’s face was flushed bright red, and Faramir’s hands were trembling with emotion. “Do I—? Oh _yes_ … Yes!”

“Good,” said Éomer. “Then you’ll serve.” He glanced at Aragorn, gave a slight nod, which the King returned. There would be more questions no doubt, in private, about his Steward; the Prince of Dol Amroth and his sons could surely be marshalled to speak about their kinsman’s many virtues. But for now… _Yes_ , thought the King. _All will be well_. Most importantly, the hobbits would be satisfied.

* * *

_Altariel, 2 nd and 28th September 2018_

 


End file.
